How to Know You're Alive
by The BatThing
Summary: Bruce Wayne has a bad day, and ends up taking nine year old Dick Grayson to the boy's open house. There, the boy interrupts again and again, getting on the billionaire's nerves. And in the end, Dick discovers he can't find his pulse and becomes worried.


_**Authors Note**: I was telling my sister how I freaked out today because I thought I had a strange disease in my mouth, but really I had just cut it because I ate too many pretzels. Then she told me about a time she couldn't feel her pulse (when she was around ten) and started crying. It made me laugh so hard, so I decided to write about it. _

"Chin up, chin up, put a little laughter in your eyes. Brave it, save it, even though you're feeling otherwise. Rise up, wise up, and let a little smile begin. You'll be happy hearted once you get it started. Up with your chinny, chin, chin."

- Debbie Reynolds 'Chin Up' -

_**How to Know You're Alive**_

By: The BatThing

Bruce Wayne handed his coat to Alfred as he entered Wayne Manor. Or rather, the man shoved it towards the butler, with a disgusted expression etched across his face. He hurried forward, without even a hello.

"Bad day, sir?"

"You have no idea." The man growled. "I'm going into the study; I'd prefer not being interrupted while there, if it can be helped. That's all I got today, people interrupting me while I was working, or talking, or simply thinking."

"Very good, Master Bruce, there will be no interruptions until five."

"Five?"

"Yes, sir, five tonight, it's Master Richard's open house." The butler answered cautiously, as if he knew that the man would react poorly. "You agreed to go with him, he did seem rather excited about the whole ordeal last week when you agreed."

Bruce groaned. "I don't believe it, out of all the days."

"Is Bruce home!" Dick's voice came from above, and a smiling face appeared. "I thought it was you! You didn't forget about tonight! I told Alfred you wouldn't, I told him you'd be home in time!"

"…" Bruce looked at Alfred then back up at where Dick stood. "Right."

* * *

"Come on, come on, come on, _come on_!" Nine-year-old Richard Grayson tugged at the hand of his mentor. His large blue eyes staring up as Bruce Wayne pause in a discussion with the boy's teacher to look down at Dick.

"What is it that I'm doing?"

The boy rolled his eyes. "_Talking_."

"And what are you doing?"

"Interrupting you." Dick answered with a large sigh and a new downcast expression. "But you talk too much, you talk to everyone, and I hate waiting because it gets boring after awhile. You try waiting around while I talk to everyone; it's not so much fun. It's like I could be doing so much other stuff but you just want to talk, talk, talk."

The teacher gave a short laugh.

Bruce just held up his hand, stopping the rambling coming from his ward. "We're talking about _you_."

"Yeah, I know, but it's nothing _bad_ about me. It's just the same old same old boring stuff."

"Well, I'd appreciate it if you just tried to be a little more patient here, your teacher and I haven't even been speaking for more than three minutes." And Bruce Wayne turned back to the woman, leaving Dick pouting rather obviously.

The boy tried waiting. He watched other people go by. He even talked to a few of his classmates that were showing their parents around. And even at one point played a quick game of Rock Paper Scissors with Tommy Nelson, but at the end, Bruce was still talking. The boy licked his lips and swayed on his feet, looking around the room. Enough was enough, and this was enough. Bruce wouldn't stop _gabbing_. It had to have been at least ten more minutes. "Are you done yet?"

Bruce, who had been wrapping up the conversation, looked down at the raven-haired kid. "Yes, but you're being extremely rude."

"It's been half an hour."

"Try five minutes." Bruce shook the woman's hand and started towards the door. "You really need to chill, Dick."

"Well, I wanted to show you -."

"Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce turned and Dick groaned.

"I'm Richard's social sciences teacher!" The woman proclaimed, talking hold of the man's hand. "We're happy you made it to his open house, Dick really is quite a bright young man, and talented too."

"Yes, he's a hard worker."

Dick gave a series of loud sighs as he watched impatiently as the two spoke. Usually he enjoyed Mrs. Lassic, but at the moment, she seemed rather annoying. How many times could Bruce hear that Dick was passing with flying colors? Apparently not enough, that or the man was practicing his manners. The boy decided right then and there, that if manners meant letting people bore you to death, then he wouldn't have it. At the circus manners weren't in the fore mind of the workers.

Well, Dick was a gypsy. Born and raised as a circus boy, traveled around the America, and he was bored to tears. Besides, all the other kids were showing their parents things, showing them the school, showing them their friends. Dick was just waiting.

He knew better than to be rude and interrupt, Bruce would have his skin. So the boy turned and looked around at his options. There, on a large bulletin board was a poster labeled_: I'm Alive_! The boy quirked an eyebrow and moved away, reading over the advertisement.

He was a picture of a boy holding his wrist, and the label beside the picture read: Your Pulse.

_Press down with your fingers until you feel your pulse. Do not press too hard, or you will not be able to feel the pulsation. Feel free to move your fingers until the pulse is easiest to feel._

Dick carefully flicked his fingers onto his wrist and attempted to feel for his pulse. He did as the sign said and then frowned when it couldn't be found. The boy walked back over to where Bruce stood talking and resumed his attempts to find his pulse. A flight of butterflies erupted in his stomach when it appeared there was no sign of life in his arm. Glancing up he saw Bruce still talking with Mrs. Lassic, and the boy bit his lower lip, not daring to interrupt.

Clearly he wasn't healthy if he didn't have a pulse, clearly he on the verge of death if he didn't have a pulse. And clearly Bruce would be upset if he interrupted because he couldn't feel his pulse.

The boy moved his fingers around without any luck and then looked up, deciding it didn't matter if his mentor was mad, this was _death_. "Bruce! I don't have a pu-."

Behind him he was shoved forward by a girl trying to pass, and he tumbled to the floor.

"I'm sorry!" The girl said as she hurried past, following her parents towards the double doors at the end of the hall.

Dick rose back up to his feet. "I don't have a -."

"No, don't continue with that." Bruce said in a strict manner. "This is the third time, Richard. The _third_ time you've been rude. If you want to tell me something, all you have to do is wait for -."

"But you -."

Bruce gave him a look that threatened continuation. A bad day gone rotten, that's what today was, and now Dick wouldn't stop this _interrupting thing_ which irked the man more than he could let on. He understood that the boy was only nine, and that the boy was raised different. But that was no excuse, considering how many times he had reminded him. "_Richard_! Do we need to talk about it at the car?"

It was more than enough. The boy had only wanted to show his mentor the school, and he hadn't even gotten a chance. And now he was dying and Bruce only cared about manners. Dick could feel his eyes clouding up as his teacher gave him a sympathetic look. In a small voice he answered the man frowning down at him. "No."

There was a loud clap and the whole room fell silent. There, in front of the class, stood the dean. He began to welcome everyone and explain that people needed to head towards the auditorium for the presentation of class awards. So the flow of people began to move, and Dick slowly with it, every now and then getting pulled up by Bruce.

The entered and took their seats in the dark, besides the same girl who had pushed the boy just a few moments before.

"Thank you to all the parents who took time out of their busy schedules to come tonight and see our academy." The speaker upfront started to ramble, explaining how there would be presentation of awards and afterwards there would be a cookie fellowship.

Bruce glanced down at Dick, and was surprised to find the boy was quivering, clutching his wrist. He cleared his throat, ready to tell Dick that he was sorry for being so harsh when the nine-year-old started to cry.

"What?" Bruce couldn't help but get flustered at the boy before him sobbing. A few parents turned to look, and even a few kids started to watch with big eyes. The man assumed this was about the interruption ordeal and wasn't about ready to pity the boy _that_ much. "_Dick_. I need you to calm down. Ok? I'm not mad about tonight." He whispered.

"I, hic, I-I'm going to d-d-**_die_**!" And then it really came. The boy started to sob before everyone.

Bruce groaned inwardly. "Come on, let's go." He was aware of the silence that fell across the whole room, as he pulled Dick to his feet. The speaker upfront continued talking, as if nothing were happening, but it didn't stop the awkwardness of the situation.

Dick wobbled as he stood, tears pouring down his face as Bruce picked up their coats.

"Come on." Bruce told the boy, taking his hand and pulling him behind him. The two made their way out of the room, and the doors closed safely behind them. "What's wrong with you, Dick? Why do you think you're going to die?"

Too upset to speak, the boy simply continued crying, clutching the man's hand.

"Well then, let's go on home."

Dick just sobbed as Bruce put on his coat, and sobbed when the teacher came up asking if everything was ok, he sobbed – a little less – as they started for the doors, and the sobs soon ended on the drive home.

"What happened back there?" Bruce asked as he glanced over at the boy beside him.

"I-I'm going to -." Tears started all over again. "_Die_."

"What?"

"I don't have a pulse!"

Bruce gave a look of shock that couldn't be stopped, never, in all his days, was he expecting something like that. He shook his head.

Dick sniffed, rubbing at his eyes. "I read this thing on how to check your pulse, and I don't have one!"

The car pulled right and then came to a stop in an Eat-N-Go-Bye parking lot. "Give me your wrist." The man moved his fingers around and then smiled at the boy. "Right there it is."

"Huh?"

Bruce took the boy's fingers and placed them where his had been. "There, feel it?"

Dick nodded, sniffing and looking at the man. "It wasn't there before though."

A chuckle escaped the man's lips as he put the car back into drive. "You probably just couldn't feel it, sport."

"I thought I was going to die."

Bruce shook his head, smiling; he shook his head at the words. "Yeah, I know."

END


End file.
